


dictionary definition

by deepnest



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (They're good partners), Carlos is a Good Partner, Cecil is a Good Partner, Date Night, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 09:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepnest/pseuds/deepnest
Summary: Perfect was a word that had waxed and waned its way through their relationship.





	dictionary definition

**Author's Note:**

> honestly a lot of things I write are just... I can't draw well enough for what I want so I gotta try to capture a feeling with writing. this is another one.
> 
> warning for Glow Cloud-related animal death

Perfect was a word that had waxed and waned its way through their relationship. 

Once, Cecil had described Carlos this way first and foremost, had understood him mainly through this: that Carlos was an epitome of a person, beautiful and intelligent and really any other positive adjective you might choose. Any adjective, and Carlos was the superlative of that. Cecil had reported on this extensively: playing with the words, unable to make them sound wrong in any way.

And Carlos had known that this was true about Cecil, too. Known and feared, because, well, from the perspective of mere facts and logic, there were so many more unknowns than that one, large, looming known. These had included, but were not limited to: his danger meter never dipping below blood orange, the incident at the Pinkberry, and simply how long his funding would last. Of all that he feared in Night Vale, perhaps the most frightening was this: Cecil's feelings were mutual. It was the least scientific thing he had to be scared of, but that was only a contributing factor. 

So Carlos had hypothesized briefly: if he didn't even know how long he'd stay in Night Vale, it would have been deeply foolish to initiate a relationship, even when there was a man with a voice like _that_ (always, always written and described and thought as such - there was no suitable scientific descriptor beyond italics), and who spoke with it so enthusiastically about, well, everything. Cecil loved the world the way a scientist did, Carlos thought, and that was perfect. 

Why couldn't he say it as easily as Cecil did? Carlos felt like he understood the weight of it better. But maybe that wasn't a fair statement. He couldn't assume that it was anything better or worse. Different. It was just different. Even when they did start dating, when Carlos had learned something about fear and something else about innocence, and when Cecil still insisted on perfection.

Cecil learned otherwise soon enough. He understood that Carlos was not perfect any more than he was, and it was only after the risk had passed that Carlos could explain a key component of his own fear: that Cecil would see Carlos for who he was, imperfect, and that would be it. Over. Done. 

Like: Carlos was private to the point of pain, but then, Cecil had a warped idea of privacy in the first place. 

Or else like: 

"You know, you're just ruining perfectly good coffee," Cecil chided over breakfast, as Carlos stirred in milk and sugar.

"It's science, babe. Milk binds to tannins in the coffee, making it less bitter. And less bitter things taste better. Ahh, science." Carlos nudged their mugs together. "Cheers!" 

Cecil learned, and they persisted. That, on its own, was not enough enough for the risk to pass. What really did it was: Cecil wasn't perfect, either, and Carlos wanted to stay with him, anyway.

Like: Cecil had no boundaries between his personal and professional lives, while Carlos maintained his so carefully that he had accurate pie graph to show how he divided his day.

And sometimes: 

"Oh, my god, how can you see? Give me that!" Carlos held out his hand for Cecil's reading glasses', his own microfiber cloth at the ready.

Cecil shrugged, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I can see just fine."

No, they were not perfect, and this would not tear them apart melodramatically or break them up quietly. None of the dates ended awkwardly, or, many of them did. But it was comfortable. It was mutual, one of many things they could share. And Carlos learned another thing about fear, and the shape of perfection in his own mouth. 

Because there was also this: the living room couch, again. Not always, but usually. Cecil, running his fingers through Carlos' hair, catching strands gently, murmured, "Perfect. Oh, my perfect Carlos…"

And Carlos caught Cecil's free hand, kissed his palm and agreed into it, "Mhm. Perfect."

A quiet evening. Just them and the rhythmic thuds of dead animals hitting the roof, following a contentious school board meeting earlier that day. But they'd just had their roof repaired, so it was fine. Better than fine. 

_Perfect_, Carlos thought, although that time, he mainly meant it for emphasis.

* * *

And then, later:

They waited on the plush vinyl bench for the host to notice them and run away screaming. They leaned in close to each other, speaking in hushed tones about Lance's poor arachnid identification skills - he had tried to offer a scorpion coffee, thinking it was a sales tarantula. They laughed in whispers, as private as anything in Night Vale could be. 

Carlos shifted on the bench. He glanced down and smoothed his skirt and took in the shape of Cecil's legs, crossed over each other.

"Oh, you're just perfect," Carlos said, as if struck suddenly. He was. One hand cupped his fiance's cheek, and the other held Cecil's hair back, to perfectly reveal a deep flush. Cecil's mouth opened, with wonder and desire and all the heat that he could feel in his face, and it was a beautiful expression. 

Carlos said, "You're beautiful. There's no scientific definition of beauty - the one scientific thing about beauty is that it's subjective. But if anyone thought otherwise, they would be wrong. You're beautiful. Perfect." 

"Carlos…" Cecil breathed.

"Don't argue. It's definitely science. There's only one scientific thing about beauty, yes. But it is a scientific fact about you that you are beautiful. In conclusion: so there." He kissed Cecil on the forehead. 

Cecil smiled slowly, giddily. "Uh-huh. Okay. Whatever you say, Doctor."

He looped his arms around Carlos' neck, and pressed a kiss to his lips. "This is perfect, isn't it? This… I never want it to end..."

The host shrieked, and sprinted into the restaurant. They knocked over their own stand in their hurry to flee, and it clattered with a violent ambiance that perfectly suited the Tourniquet dining experience. 

Cecil stood up. "But also, I'm actually pretty hungry. Sounds like our table is ready. Shall we go, my dear?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'm starving." 

Cecil offered an arm, and Carlos allowed his fiance to escort him to their table.

* * *

And not finally, but significantly:

Cecil rolled over in bed. He had been perfectly comfortable before; his only reason for shifting was to lay an arm over Carlos' chest and press his face into his husband's neck. He nuzzled into Carlos' skin, which smelled faintly of formaldehyde under the lavender of his soap. Cecil nuzzled and kissed and cooed. 

"Perfect Carlos…"

Carlos set his phone down on his nightstand, and lifted Cecil's chin to kiss him. Cecil sighed into it, squeezing a remarkable amount of adoration into a single breath. 

"Scientifically speaking, that is my name…" Carlos tapped Cecil's nose and then, finally, just asked. "Hey. What does that mean to you, anyway?"

"What? You? You mean everything to me, Carlos."

Carlos shook his head, and then cut the gesture off to nod. "No. Oh, well, yes, you, too, but. I meant perfect. What does perfect mean to you? Because it seems like you've always thought that about me, and I, well, a lot of things are mutual. Mutualism is a scientific concept that isn't really relevant here. But that's mutual, too - what you said. 

"And I've thought about what perfection means to me: it means, if reverence can be teasing, or if love can be stillness and not something with wild momentum. Except that's all hypotheticals - not a hypothesis, because I have no idea what the result of those conditions would be, and also you're not perfect, and I'm not either. So I guess I still don't get it?"

He flopped back onto his pillow and shrugged into it, and lifted his hands palm-up to carefully emphasize his confusion.

"Ah," said Cecil. His lips twitched, his eyes flicking back and forth thoughtfully, until he settled on a smile. "Well, maybe I have some science for you."

"Oh?" 

Cecil arranged himself onto his elbow, leaning over Carlos. "Yes. I was talking to Nilanjana before I picked you up the other day. I was like, 'Hey, Nilanjana, how's the experiment going?' And she said it was going perfectly, which I thought was weird, like, nothing is perfect, right? Perfection isn't real. I told her that. I, uh, may have scoffed it."

He paused, straightening Carlos' lab coat over his nightgown, and then not letting go over the fabric. He teased the lapel in his fingertips, undoing his own adjustment as he went on, "Anyway, she explained to me that while one way to understand perfect is 'free of flaws,' that's not the only way. It can just be..." 

Cecil released Carlos' lab coat, and shifted further, lying almost on top of Carlos. Carlos' breath caught, and Cecil asked, "Is this okay?"

Carlos shifted an arm, reaching up to lay a hand on his husband's shoulder. "Oh. Yes. Go on."

Cecil let his body settle over Carlos', careful about the amount of pressure he applied. But he knew what Carlos liked. He balanced himself on an elbow again, bringing himself close to his husband and kissing his cheek. With his other hand, he caressed that oh-so-perfect hair. 

"Right… Perfect can just be something that is at its best, or most complete. And a lot of the time, people take that to mean that it's free of flaws. But it can just mean… You know, complete. You wouldn't add anything. Or take anything away." Another kiss, just because, just at Carlos' temple. "It can just mean that something is the way it's supposed to be, and why can't that include some flaws?"

This time, a string of kisses, tracing from Carlos' temple over the strands of gray in his hair.

"You are everything you are supposed to be. What that is may change - no, it will, and it will still be perfect, because it's you. You are always perfect, because you are always everything you're supposed to be, and I will always, always love you for it. I will never not love you. You will never not be perfect to me." 

Carlos tilted his chin up, an invitation for Cecil to kiss his neck which was promptly taken. Carlos said, breathlessly, "Oh. Okay." 

Cecil laughed, "Okay?"

"That makes a lot of sense. Scientifically, I mean. And I like it. Speaking personally, just, you know, for myself - I like that definition of perfection. And you. I _love_ you!"

"Yeah, well, guess what? I love you, too!" 

That was perfect, and it was human, and it was real. 


End file.
